


Rules Outside the Order

by Smediterranea



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Language, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smediterranea/pseuds/Smediterranea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, do Stormtroopers ever… fraternize with each other?”</p>
<p>Finn feels the same sense of trepidation whenever he’s about to say something particularly stupid, like his now infamous <i> “what’s a weekend?” </i> The only way to make sure he doesn’t reveal the depth of his ignorance is to turn the question around.</p>
<p>“Well, how do you guys do things here? I’ll tell you if it’s the same.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules Outside the Order

Of all the things Finn likes about being out of the First Order, he likes being with friends the best.

Sure, he had his squad mates back in the Order, but it was hard to really call them _friends_. He knew which jobs they liked and which ones they hated, how much weight they could bench press, which ones got loud when they were angry and which ones got quiet, but he knows now it’s not the same thing as _friends._

He sits in the mess hall with Poe and the other pilots and he sees what friends look like, how they interact with one another. Finn finds their talking fascinating: sometimes it’s serious, worries about a family member or a mission, and sometimes it’s light-hearted, debating a book or a holovid. Sometimes it’s truly ridiculous, and they all laugh so hard that they are all on the verge of tears.

Someday, Finn wants to have friends like that.

Poe argues they’re Finn’s friends, too, but Finn just shakes his head. He hasn’t quite figured out how to talk like them, how to get past his inability to speak for longer than a minute or two. Some of the pilots tell stories that last for a full twenty minutes, longer than Finn would talk in an entire week in the First Order. The only way Finn can easily participate in the conversation is if they ask him to talk like it’s a direct order, but even then it’s awkward. Finn had assumed the Resistance would be pretty similar to the Order in many ways — it was, after all, another military group. But it turns out the rules are pretty different.

“Okay, I got a question. But you don’t have to answer it.” There are only a handful of the older pilots left in the mess, drinking some terrible booze they’ve managed to smuggle back from one of the recon missions. They’re supposed to be scouting for new locations for a base and they’re got a few promising locations. Finn can’t wait until they find a spot — he’s stuck bunking in the med bay until they’ve moved out. 

Snap takes a swig of beer. “So, do Stormtroopers ever… fraternize with each other?”

“Fraternization is not allowed,” Finn answers automatically. “No relationships between troops.”

“Well, maybe not a _relationship_ but did you guys ever... _you know…_ ”

“Snap,” says Poe sharply. “Cut it out.”

Finn looks at Snap curiously. “You mean sex?”

The other pilots lean in. Poe looks angry — not something Finn has seen much before — but Snap continues, “so you guys do have sex?”

Finn feels the same sense of trepidation whenever he’s about to say something particularly stupid, like his now infamous _“what’s a weekend?”_ The only way to make sure he doesn’t reveal the depth of his ignorance is to turn the question around.

“Well, how do you guys do things here? I’ll tell you if it’s the same.”

The pilots laugh and launch into explanations:

“Well, when two Resistance members love each other very much…”

“Or they just really need a good fuck.”

“Or both! Sometimes it’s both.”

“Well, as long as they make sure it’s not someone under their command, unlike _some people._ ”

“Hey! That was one time and I didn’t know he was transferred to my unit until _after_ we had sex.”

Their attempt at educating Finn quickly devolves into comparing sexual escapades. Finn laughs with the rest of them, but he quickly surmises that sex is _not_ the same in the Resistance. But he’s not about to tell them that when they’ve let him off the hook.

By the time the pilots realize they’ve gotten majorly sidetracked, it’s gotten too late for most of them to justify staying up when there’s a mission in the morning. They go their separate ways, but Poe walks Finn back to the med bay.

“Sorry about that. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“Thanks, Poe.”

A rare silence from Poe Dameron. Finn can’t help smiling.

“But you still want to know how Stormtroopers have sex, right?”

“I’m just imaging some weird dungeon and you have to keep your helmets on or something.” Poe looks sheepish, but his grin widens as Finn laughs.

“No helmets. No dungeon either, although I guess there weren’t any windows, so it was pretty dark in there. Sort of just time to blow off steam, like you guys do,” Finn shrugs.

“How do they prevent fraternization then? You said no relationships. Some people — they, ah, get attached.”

“The algorithm.”

Poe frowns. “The what?”

“The algorithm. Makes sure your assigned sex location is different from your squad mates. That way you don’t have the same people in your weekly rotation too often. The people in the room change up every time and you don’t know their designations or ranks.”

“A room full of people?” 

Finn smirks. Poe has been a good friend, not pushing Finn to discuss his First Order life beyond anything relevant to the Resistance’s interests, but Finn can’t blame him for his curiosity. Kriff, sex was one of the few perks in the Order. Being with the Resistance, well, Finn hasn’t gone this long without sex since his squadron was allowed to start having weekly rotations. So he knows exactly what Poe is trying to hint at without being too pushy for details.

“Yeah, sometimes everyone got in on it, but most times people broke off into smaller groups.”

“Groups?!” 

Poe’s eyes are wide. Finn bites his cheek, remembering that the wildest story the pilots told involved three people. Finn has done three people enough times that it certainly didn’t seem that wild a story, but now he realizes that this is just another one of those situations where he’s stuck his foot in his mouth.

“Or pairs!” he adds hastily. “Or sometimes by yourself, if there wasn’t anyone you felt like being with. Just depended on what people wanted.” 

The panic he feels ebbs as Poe claps him on the shoulder, his crooked grin back. Poe doesn’t look at him like he’s a freak; this is the kind sort of laugh Finn has learned about. Laughing _with,_ not _at._

“Damn, think about what it would do for morale if we had that! Maybe I should get Leia on board.”

“Well, you guys have other perks. First off, your food tastes like food.”

“We also have actual beds with pillows.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even know what a pillow was. _And_ you guys have dessert.”

“I think that falls under the ‘food that tastes like food’ category.”

“Nope. Dessert is its own separate thing. If you gave Stormtroopers chocolate and ice cream, this war would be over in minutes.”

Poe’s bark of laughter echoes through the empty med bay, and Finn grins as Poe attempts to shoo away an angry med droid. He finally has to admit defeat — the med droid’s repeated _I[NTRUDER! Patients require rest. Visiting hours end at 20:00] ___is too shrill to ignore — and gives Finn a wave as he leaves.

Finn smiles. He likes smiling at Poe. If the Resistance had weekly rotations, Finn would pick Poe any time. 

*** 

Black Squadron has been out scouting for two days, so Finn has been eating his meals with the new recruits. 

They’re usually nice to be around — they get lost on the base as often as Finn does, and they’re very eager to tell him all about their home planets. The one downside is they’re clearly all vying to be leader of their group and sometimes their meals devolve into pointless arguments, veiled attempts at gaining an upper hand. This particular evening, they start arguing about sports. 

“Ugh, sqreemball is stupid.” 

“What?! It’s the best. Nerifa is dumb — you can’t even play if there’s strong gravity on the planet.” 

“Well at least you don’t have to wait an hour before someone scores the first point.” 

“Hey, it just builds the tension! What good are sports if there’s no buildup?” 

One of the recruits turns to Finn, who is sometimes given the dubious honor of settling disputes. “What do you think, Finn?” 

“Oh, I — well, I don’t know much about either actually.” 

“What? You’ve never played sqreemball?” 

“Or Nerifa?” 

Finn shrugs. “Nope. How do you play?” 

The recruits launch into long explanations about both, often overlapping each other. It gets so confusing that Finn eventually has to pull out his holopad to jot down notes. 

One of the youngest recruits with a turned-up nose and watery eyes peers over Finn’s shoulder. “What is that?!” 

And before Finn can fully register what a terrible idea this might be, his holopad is out of his hands and on the table. 

“Rules Outside the Order? Holy shit, are these just rules you wrote down on how to be a _person_?” The recruits gather around in a tight mob; they smell blood in the water. Now’s their chance to prove that they aren’t the weakest — at least _they_ don’t carry around a rule book with things as basic as “shaking hands is a polite way to greet civilians.” 

As they begin to read and the chuckles grow into laughs, Finn remembers what Captain Phasma taught them when they were young. 

_Your face must match your helmet, trooper._ Blank, empty. If your face betrayed no emotion, your brain could be tricked to ignore any treacherous feelings. All troopers learned at a young age that tears and smiles got you nowhere; discipline and control was what the First Order wanted. It was something Finn hated — as much as he had excelled in simulations, he was terrible at hiding his anger or enthusiasm at the results — but he had learned it all the same. 

Finn schools his face into a blank mask and listens to the laughter of the Resistance rookies. One is reading the holopad aloud to the amusement of half of the mess hall: 

“Rule number 34: Don’t mix grava juice and caf, despite the increased nutritional content when combined. “ 

Finn clenches his fists as the laughter rings out, but doesn’t he blink. 

“Rule number 38: Cold water showers wake you up. Warm water makes you sleepy.” 

Mild guffaws. 

“Aha!” The recruit sits up triumphantly — he knows he’s found something truly embarrassing. “Rule number 47: You shouldn't fuck above rank!” 

The laughter is mixed with shouting. 

“Ooooh, Finn, who d’you wanna fuck?” 

“Oh shit, didn’t even know Stormtroopers had sex!” 

“Man, did you join the Resistance just to get some action?” 

Finn’s face is frozen. He calculates his options, thinking back to the days of First Order hazing. They never got to talk with each other long enough to get this far in their teasing and bullying. Insults were short and fast; too long, and you were all at risk for demerits and getting stuck with the worst of the sanitation detail. Still, he knows his options are as follows: 

1) Get up and leave. A difficult task as he’s a long way from the door and he needs his holopad back. 

2) Punch the recruit in the face. Also a bad idea — Finn sticks out enough as it is and half the base suspects his First Order training is going to kick in and he’ll kill them all in their sleep. 

3) Laugh with them and pretend like he doesn’t want to bolt towards the Outer Rim and stay there for the rest of his life. 

Just when he takes a deep breath, ready to bite the bullet, there’s a commotion at the entrance to the mess. Black Squadron has landed, and the pilots and technicians are streaming in now that the X-wings are safely back in their hangars. The young recruits rise to greet their idols, and Finn silently palms his holopad and sneaks behind them. 

He’s out of the mess hall with no one the wiser, and he’s practically jogging back to the med bay. Dr. Kalonia would be furious if she knew he was running, but he can’t help it. He feels like he’s trying to run away from himself, as if he could just keep going and somehow escape the embarrassment of a human being he is. 

Finn sits heavily on the bed, his breath coming in shallow gasps. As much as he hated the Order, he had never felt like _this_ there. A freak, an idiot. The recruits were right to make fun of him; he didn’t know how to do anything right. 

The minutes pass agonizingly slow, and Finn is no closer to calming down. To make matters worse, he realizes that Poe must have landed with the rest of Black Squadron. In the two weeks since Finn has been allowed to walk, he hasn’t once missed greeting Poe. The week before that, Poe had always stopped by the med bay to say hello when he returned. Finn’s heart lurches when he realizes Poe might come looking for him. Finn doesn’t want to see him — he doesn’t want to see anyone, not even if Rey had suddenly returned from her sojourn with Luke Skywalker He just wants to hide away where no one can find him, where he can figure out what the hell he’s supposed to be doing with himself. 

He’s only in a moderate amount of pain from his impromptu jog, but he downs two of the pills Dr. Kalonia gave him in case his back acted up. He knows the side effect is that they make him drowsy, and maybe when he wakes up, he’ll be able to figure all of this out. 

By the time Poe arrives in the med bay, Finn is fast asleep. 

*** 

It took a month and a half of searching, but a new base has finally been selected and D’Qar is rapidly packed up to move out. Finn’s back is almost entirely healed, so he’s been running around the base helping out. It’s been a good distraction; not much time for self-pity or introspective thinking when it’s all hands on deck. 

Besides, it almost feels like he’s slowly getting better at this whole “being a free-thinking adult” thing. The recruits have mysteriously stopped teasing him about his list — Finn suspects their mandatory meeting with Commander Poe Dameron may have had something to do with that — and the rest of the pilots are treating him more like his own person and less like Poe’s sidekick. Snap has made it his personal mission to find out what kind of booze Finn likes (he’s hated all of it so far) and Jessika Pava is teaching him how to curse in all of the fifteen languages she speaks. Poe argued it didn’t count as “speaking” a language if you only knew how to insult people, but Pava just called him a _fungdark_ and continued her lesson with Finn. 

Finn thinks this might be what _fun_ feels like. 

The Resistance has a pretty organized plan for moving base. After all, they’ve had plenty of practice over the past few years. The X-wings will act as an escort to the larger ships, a caravan across the galaxies, until they reach their new home. It’s a good time to move base. With the First Order still reeling from the hit on the Starkiller base and the Republic finally, finally, moving towards joining the fight, the Resistance expects a fairly quiet transition into their new home. 

Finn is designated on a ship as a backup gunner. They’re not expecting any trouble, but the ship has guns, so they might as well have someone with experience using them. Finn would argue he’s not exactly _experienced_ — two battles and some time on a simulator does not an expert make — but he’s still above most of the new recruits. Besides, being on a smaller ship with only three others will allow Finn to learn more about piloting the ship. That will help pass the time as they bring up the rear guard. 

Finn and the small crew gather in the cabin so they can chat while their caravan proceeds. The ships being making their leaps into hyperspace until there are only a few left. Finn’s transport is third to last, with only two X-wings remaining behind. They’re just about the hit the throttle when a loud boom rattles the ship, tilting it a full ninety degrees. 

Finn scrambles to make his way to the gunner position when another assault hits them. Finn hears something crunch painfully in his hand as he tries to brace his fall. Cradling his injured hand close, he straps himself into his seat. He can see two ships working in practiced coordination; one dives as the other rises, and it’s impossible for their small ship to shoot both at the same time. Finn can hear the captain trying to radio for help. 

“Ship 442-Gamma is under attack. Requesting immediate backup. Repeat: ship 442-Gamma under attack.” 

The radio emits only static, but their X-wing guard has clearly noticed something amiss. As Finn blasts away, the X-wings roar past, distracting their assailants. 

“Kriff, we’ve lost power to the main drive! We’ll run out of filtered oxygen before we can make a jump. We’ve got to take her down.” 

A panicked soldier shouts through the galley. “Captain, the closest planet is Parleep — it’s a suspected First Order outpost.” 

“Well, it’s Parleep or we all suffocate, which do you prefer?” she shouts back. 

The landing is the second worst Finn has ever experienced. They all manage to crawl out, but the ship looks too damaged to fix, much less fly back out to join the caravan. They have to wait and hope that backup arrives before the First Order does. Unlikely given that their radio is dead and they can’t call for help. 

Even more unlikely now that one of the attacking ships has safely landed in front of them and a small patrol of Stormtroopers has gathered behind them. 

There’s a brief whisper amongst their group whether to fight. They’re vastly outnumbered, and they’ll probably all die, but they’re Resistance fighters captured by the First Order — they’re probably going to die anyway. But there is barely time to draw their blasters before the stun guns have been unleashed upon them and they’re writhing on the ground as electric currents pass through them. 

“Hey! No handling the merchandise before you’ve paid!” barks a small, muscular woman. Finn’s able to focus enough through a haze of pain to see their attackers were not First Order, but a rag-tag group of what appears to be bounty hunters. 

“Three thousand credits,” replies the cool, metallic voice behind the white helmet. 

“Bantha shit. We just got you four Resistance members — they’re worth at least 1,500 each.” 

The stun gun clicks ominously as the handful of troopers prepare to square off with the bounty hunters. Finn manages to roll himself onto his back, which turns out to be a big mistake. 

“Hey, wait a minute!” One of the bounty hunters with lime green skin and orange eyes grabs his shoulders. “I know this one! He’s worth 50,000 credits!” The bounty hunters drag Finn away from his fellow Resistance members. Their eyes are wide with panic. 

“Hand him over,” replies the Stormtrooper evenly. 

“You must be out of your mind. Hand over the money and we’ll throw in the rest of them for free. You can do whatever you want with ‘em once we’ve got 50,000 in our pockets.” 

Finn has to think fast, because he can guess exactly what the First Order will do to him and his friends. He’s attended plenty of public executions in the past, although it was usually unclear as to what exactly the condemned had done to deserve their fate. There were rumors, of course — an illicit love affair with a member outside the Order, violating direct orders of a superior, even desertion — but the First Order didn’t want to admit that anyone was ever tempted to break the rules, so they let Finn and his fellow troopers make up their own theories. Either way, it kept everyone in line. An ex-trooper/current Resistance member and three of his compatriots would make quite the propaganda execution. 

Finn takes a deep breath and takes stock of his surroundings. They seem to have landed in an otherwise bucolic meadow. The surrounding grass is tall enough that Finn and his felled companions are well below the highest blades. But it’s useless to try to crawl away; the swishing will give them away instantly. There also are large boulders dotting the landscape, but those won’t serve as much help to hide behind, and the trees in the nearby forest look too tall to climb. It doesn’t seem like they’re about to get any aerial support either. The two X-wings guarding them have undoubtedly had to make the jump to the next galaxy to get backup; all comms were ordered to run silent to prevent the First Order from finding the Resistance as they moved base. 

Finn’s starting to lose hope as he discounts their options. He thinks of Rey and regrets that he can’t see her one last time, whipping her lightsaber around like a true Jedi. He thinks of BB8 and Chewie and how he still hasn’t learned how to understand either of them. He thinks of Poe and wonders what it would be like to kiss him, something he’s only seen in holovids. He has a brief fantasy of Poe coming to save him, a broad grin and a reference to their first meeting — _“I can fly anything”_ — when a swift kick to the shoulder knocks him sideways. 

The bounty hunters and Stormtroopers are in a full-on brawl. The bounty hunters are smart to exploit the Stormtroopers’ weaknesses at hand-to-hand combat; their armor makes them bulky and prone to falling over. They’re in too tight-knit a group to fire weapons — blasts would ricochet off someone’s armor. 

“Surrender! You are outnumbered!” 

“Outnumbered my ass. You bucket-heads can’t fight for shit. Now shut up and pay up!” 

The bounty hunters’ ship sits close by, its engines still roaring as they cool. They won’t even hear the difference if the engines start up. Finn rolls away from the fight, heavy boots missing his face by inches, until he’s next to his three comrades. 

“Run for their ship, but make sure you dodge behind the boulders on the way. It will confuse their infrared cameras if you keep disappearing.” 

“We won’t get there in time. They’ll see us running,” their captain whispers. 

“I’ll hold them off.” 

“Finn, no! They’ll take you back to the First Order and…” 

Finn ignores her. A Stormtrooper clumsily topples over face first in front of them. Finn swiftly disarms the trooper, stands above the grass, and fires up into the crowd. As expected, the blast knocks over half the group as it bounces around, and Finn has to duck in case it boomerangs back towards him. 

The troops and bounty hunters turn towards him. He can see his friends running towards the ship and Finn raises his blaster to fire again. This time, the remaining upright troopers turn their sites on him, but the bounty hunters jump in front. 

“Hey, no shootin’ our prisoner! You guys want him alive, right?” 

“He is a traitor to the First Order. He shall be executed!” 

“Well, I don’t care what you do with ‘em, just pay us our money first!” 

“Out of the way!” 

“Make me, bucket-head!” 

And just like that, the brawl starts up again, and Finn has to duck behind a boulder to avoid a stray blast. He keeps running, dodging as stray blasts follow him over the bounty hunters’ shouts (“Get ‘im! Don’t kill ‘im, just stop shooting you kriffing idiots!”) until he reaches the ship, its engines blazing hot. 

Now it seems the troopers and bounty hunters alike have figured out their plan, and appear to be in agreement in their desire to shoot and kill Finn. Fortunately, the doors slam shut as the group races towards them, blasters firing. 

The ship lurches forward as the sound of the blasters thud against the side, and Finn is again thrown against the wall (thankfully keeping his injured hand safe this time), and they rocket upwards with nausea-inducing speed. 

They’ve barely made it out of the atmosphere, whooping and hollering in glee, when a barrage of X-wings swarm them menacingly. An urgent comm is beeping on the dash, and Finn swipes to answer it while their captain fights to keep their ship steady. 

“Hand over your prisoners, or we’ll blast you clean out of the sky.” 

It’s not the type of anger Finn would’ve expected to hear in Poe’s voice. He thought Poe would be the type of shout, to yell and scream but this, cold, controlled rage... it wasn’t a sound he would soon forget. 

“Commander Dameron, this is Captain Arezia, formerly ship 442-Gamma. We’ve escaped with all our crew on board.” 

There’s a tinny sound of the pilots in the other X-wings cheering. Poe must’ve put the comm on a speaker for his pilots to hear. The anger in his voice deflates. “Any injuries?” 

“Well, we took a few knocks, and Finn’s hand is sort of turning a funny color — stop shushing me, Finn, they’re going to find out you got hurt saving our asses as soon as we get to base — but yeah, we’re fine.” 

They have to make a pit stop to swap ships — they’re not sure if the bounty hunters have placed trackers in their ships or not — but they all manage to make it to the new base in one piece. And that evening, Finn learns what a “toast” is when the when the whole mess hall stands and holds up their drinks in his direction. 

“To Finn!” shouts Poe. “A brave man and one of the best damn soldiers we’ve got.” 

“Hear, hear!” Finn tries to hide his embarrassment, but he thinks to himself: _at least they think I’m good at something._

*** 

The smell of burnt flesh makes Finn stop short. 

He’s had a long day. It’s been three months on the new base and he’s been making real progress training as a pathfinder, but he’s tired, and sore, and Poe had promised a special celebratory dinner to mark Finn’s recent promotion. Finn had thrown himself into training exercises with even more verve than usual knowing he had something to look forward to at the end of the day, and now he was feeling pretty dead on his feet. And if he’s totally honest with himself, part of his self-induced exhaustion was to help quell the awful butterflies that have been assaulting his stomach whenever Poe smiled at him. Worse than that, the powerful urge he felt to push Poe up against the wall and…. 

He feels slightly sick every time he realizes he misses something about his life in the First Order, but man, he really needs to get laid. 

The horrible smell has at least completely quenched any sexual desires Finn may have been having, replacing it with a swooping lurch of dread. 

_What the hell had happened to Poe?_

He’s about to throw himself into the small room he shares with Poe when Snap strolls by in the hallway. 

“Ugh, Dameron wasn’t kidding. Smells awful” he sniggers. “Guy can’t cook to save his life, but he decided to make homemade honey cakes for some reason…” He sobers, seeing Finn’s stricken expression. “Don’t worry, he’s fine! Your man’s in the med bay getting patched up.” 

Finn’s halfway to the med bay before he realizes that maybe he should’ve protested _Poe isn’t my man_ but who the hell is he kidding at this point? He’s been following the guy around for months, wearing his jacket, and pining away for a superior officer who’s way out of his league. And maybe he was getting better at this whole “being a free-thinking person” thing, but he still didn’t know how to do any of the stuff someone like Poe would want. Someone who knew how to dance, or choose appropriate breakfast foods, or even decide what color shirts and pants went together. Good thing Poe said anything looked good with his jacket. 

Finn breathlessly stumbles into the med bay and finds Poe grimacing as a med droid applies increasing amounts of batca to what looks like a very burned hand. Poe’s eyes go wide at Finn’s expression. 

“Buddy, I am so sorry. I know I promised you a nice night, and I thought I could do it but…” He tries to shrug and winces as the droid pokes him to stay still. 

“It’s okay. Are you all right?” Finn asks. 

Poe blushes. Finn has never seen Poe blush before. It’s… well, those feelings Finn was trying to tamp down earlier have come bursting back to life again. 

"Yeah,” says Poe quietly. “Yeah, I’m okay.” The droid gives a set of angry beeps and rolls away. Poe sighs and looks back up at Finn with a weak smile. “Turns out I’m just a human disaster is all.” 

Finn blinks, stunned. “But you’re good at everything.” 

Poe laughter rings throughout the room. “I can _fly_ anything, not _do_ anything.” 

“Yes, you can. You’re good at everything.” 

Poe gives him a soft, crooked grin. “No, I’m not. Most of the time I’m a mess. Just trying to figure things out like everyone else in the galaxy, I guess.” 

And Finn doesn’t think, he just acts. He presses forward to kiss Poe, just like in all of the holovids he’s watched in secret to learn how people outside the Order fraternize with one another. 

“Sorry,” Finn gasps, pulling away. “I shouldn’t… I didn’t...” 

But then Poe is grabbing the front of Finn’s jacket and pulling him back, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, but he wants it to last forever. 

Eventually, they break apart, both gasping a bit and a little embarrassed to remember they’re in a makeshift hospital room. They smile at each other for a long moment before Finn remembers: 

“Kriff, aren’t you not supposed to fuck outside of your rank in the Resistance?” 

Poe’s smile widens. “Well, as long as they’re not under your command it’s okay. You thinking about switching over to flying?” 

“No,” Finn answers immediately. “I like being a pathfinder.” 

“Good.” Poe heaves himself off the examination table. He claps his uninjured hand on Finn’s back and steers him out of the room. “Only time I’m ever going to talk someone as talented as yourself _out_ of being a pilot. Now, you said something about, ah, fucking? You gonna show me all those moves you know?” 

Finn can only nod, his mouth dry. 

“You should know, I’m, uh — I’m one of those people who gets pretty attached if we’re, uh, _fraternizing_.” 

Finn smiles. “That’s okay. I’m already pretty attached to you.” 

Poe laughs again. 

_This,_ Finn thinks. _This is definitely what fun feels like._


End file.
